There Are Three Kinds of People in This World
by Daughters of Gondor
Summary: Those who make...those who watch...and those who wonder...Rating to be safe, for a couple swear words.


**_A/N:_** Found this quote somewhere and immediately thought of the Winchesters, so had to write a fic using it. This is what came of it.

Hope you enjoy it. Sorry for any mistakes. I double checked it but I may have missed some things.

* * *

**_Those Who Make Things Happen…_**

Sam grit his teeth and focused on the tennis ball on the table in front of him, determined to control his telekinesis. Each second the ball refused to move just added to his growing annoyance.

At first he'd tried to pretend it wasn't there inside him, fearing what he could be capable of if he ever managed to harness his telekinesis. One of his worst fears was that he'd become Max, though Dean insisted it would never happen. It ranked right up there with the fear that if he ever allowed himself to love again he'd lose her. Or the fear of losing Dean, even his father, to the Demon because they stood between it and him one time too many.

He'd already almost lost his family to the Demon's wrath once after that crash that had nearly stolen all their lives. Dean's life had been in the most danger given the loss of blood after the Demon had very nearly succeeded in ripping his heart out. Sam never wanted to see his brother tread a line so close to death ever again.

Third time being the charm, and all, most likely even in the demonic realms of Hell. If Dean had to fight Death a third time…he may not win again. Winchester luck had never been _that_ good.

It had been two months since the accident, a week since Dean had finally gotten 'sprung from prison' as he put it, and the Demon had yet to show it's face again. Things were actually going fairly well for the Hunters at the moment. John believed the bullet from the Colt had wounded the Demon sufficiently that it had to 'hide and lick it's wounds'. It gave them time to research; they weren't going in unprepared next time.

They had to work around two varying schedules, though. They worked around two part-time jobs, John having picked up work at a small garage in town, and Sam at a family-owned diner where he waited tables. To supplement that income, given that both Sam and John were hesitant to use the scammed credit cards until they got back on the road again and weren't staying in one place for weeks on end, they relied on money brought in by the occasional game of Poker John was able to find, and the rare hustle of pool. Even Sam had performed the occasional hustle, putting his own, mostly unused, pool skills to work.

So, while John hit the library, when he wasn't working or, up until a week ago, visiting Dean in the hospital, Sam surfed the 'net. It was actually Dean who had pointed out to Sam that perhaps libraries and internet sites weren't what they needed this time. After all, John had been chasing this thing and researching it for over twenty years and it hadn't done them any good. The Demon had powers that had shown them manmade weapons were useless against it.

What they _needed_ was similar powers to fight it. What they _had_ was Sammy.

At first Sam had argued. He couldn't control his telekinesis, and the visions were actually fairly passive, merely showing what was happening. They couldn't be put into active use to hurt the Demon in any way.

Dean's smile had been unusually serious, _"Well, then it's time you learned to harness the power in your mind, or wherever the hell it comes from. We can't depend solely on that Colt; with only one bullet left, it could fail us, big time. We're going to need **you**, Sammy, or that thing will rip through us like it tried to last time."_

Though he hadn't wanted to, Sam had seen the wisdom in his brother's words. So here he was, a week later, trying to learn control over his telekinesis. And getting more pissed by the second.

Focusing only on the ball, letting the physical world around him, the muted sounds of the motel room next door…everything melt away. He narrowed his gaze at the tennis ball, as if blaming _it_ for it's lack of cooperation.

He would move it. Of that he was sure.

Slowly, almost too much so to notice at first, the ball began to roll. Sam held his breath, mentally urging the ball to stop, exhaling in a rush as it did so.

Swallowing, he settled in to experiment.

_**Those Who Watch Things Happen…**_

Dean sat silently on one of the motel beds, watching his brother glare at the ball sitting on the table in front of him. It had to be the weirdest game of wills he'd ever seen, and he wanted to laugh, but he held it in. Nothing could make him betray his presence now and distract Sam.

He'd had a lot of time to think while he was in the hospital recuperating. The whole fight with the Demon had replayed in his dreams too often to count. Each time a shiver had raced through him when his back hit that wall as the Demon pinned him there with it's mind alone.

The way it had looked at Sam, commenting on him and _all the children like him._ It had almost sounded fearful.

Then it had hit Dean. Was the Demon afraid of Sam? Afraid of the power Sam seemed to have?

The idea had merit. Their father had hunted this thing relentlessly for 23…no, 24 years, now. He'd researched, put together patterns, but the one thing he'd never been able to uncover was how to kill the damn thing. All they knew was that it wanted Sam. Why else would it have been in Sammy's nursery, killed Mary over Sammy's crib, killed Jess over Sammy's bed.

The big brother in Dean wanted to deny it, convince itself that it was all just some fucked up _thing_ that enjoyed killing innocent women in the worst way possible. The Hunter in him, though, wouldn't let the big brother believe that. The Hunter knew the truth, even as the big brother denied it. That thing was after Sam, for whatever reason.

The question was why? Why did it want Sam? Why had it gone after Max, or any number of other children?

It hit Dean then, like a load of bricks straight to his hard head. The Demon wanted Sam, and all other kids with various psychic gifts, because maybe, they were they only thing that could truly destroy it.

The big brother in him had thrown up his hands at that, giving up and letting the Hunter take over, after all, even the Hunter wanted Sam safe, and would give his own life if it meant Sam was safe. But the Hunter also knew what had to be done and would do it…even if it meant Sam had to be ready to fight this Demon…fire with fire, so to speak. The Demon was a telekinetic, so was Sam.

Good was stronger than evil, right? So, if Sam used his telekinesis for good, and fought against this Demon, they had to come out the other side the victors.

Dean's attention was brought back to Sam when he heard a rush of breath. His own breath caught in his throat when the tennis ball began to roll across the table, stopping and starting at regular intervals.

He watched in awe as Sam seemed to burrow in for the long haul. His eyes widened when the lamp set at the edge of the table against the wall moved the slightest bit. Like the ball, it did a little start-stop motion before wobbling a bit and lifting slowly off the table.

Pride swelled in his chest. Sam was doing it, he was controlling his telekinesis.

When they met the Demon again, they'd be ready. And this time, only one side would be walking away from the fight.

The Winchesters.

**_And Those Who Wonder What The Hell Happened…_**

John sighed as he pulled his truck into the slot next to the newly restored Impala and cut the engine. He'd spent three hours at the library and he had nothing to show for it. He was quickly losing hope that they would be able to fight this Demon.

It worried him that he'd learned everything there was to learn about the thing that had killed Mary. What if there was no way to stop it? All they had was one bullet left in the Colt, and given the recounting Sam had given him of the attack in Salvation…

Maybe the Colt wasn't enough. The Demon had been able to dodge the bullet once, what would stop it from doing so again? What if it was just too strong to be beat?

Shaking his head John refused to accept that. That thing _would_ be defeated. Nothing could survive all three Winchesters. They had hunter in their blood, and nothing survived once they put their minds to killing it.

Okay, sure, things may escape them occasionally, like the Shtriga. Hell, even the Demon had escaped them. But they would win in the end, just like Dean and Sam had finished the Shtriga not so long ago. Nothing could elude the Winchesters forever.

This Demon was no exception; they just had to find the key to killing it.

Shrugging his shoulders to ease the tension from three hours of sitting in a cramped library chair, John gathered up his notes and whatever books and papers he'd brought back with him and got out of his truck. Maybe he just needed a short break from all the research. Sam and Dean could probably use a break as well.

Wherever the Demon was it wasn't going to attack anytime soon. The bullet Sam had put in John's thigh when he'd been possessed had weakened their enemy, John had been able to sense it in the short time before it had left him alone in his body once again.

Beyond that, John could almost sense that the Demon was lying in wait, regrouping, biding it's time until it was back at full strength. It was almost as if, by sharing a body for a time, John and the Demon had somehow been linked to each other. He could sense the thing's fear of the Winchesters…

And he found it…enlightening.

Stepping up to the motel room door John juggled the books and papers in his arms as he dug for his key. He'd deposit everything in the room and inform his boys they were taking a much needed break.

The last thing John expected when he opened the door of the motel room he and his sons were staying in was to have a lamp and a tennis ball sail across the room toward him, propelled by nothing.

Reflexes honed by 24 years of hunting kicked in and John hit the floor, dropping everything in his arms and covering his head as the lamp shattered against the wall. The tennis ball flew out the door, headed for the horizon, passing through the exact space his head had inhabited only moments earlier. John only vaguely registered the oddly familiar thump-shatter, of glass outside before his attention was drawn back to the flurry of movement inside the room.

"Dad!"

The shout came from two points in the room as both of his sons jumped to their feet and rushed forward to help him up. Sam gathered up the various books and papers now scattered across the floor as Dean made a show of dusting his father off. Both boys kept their eyes averted in an attempt to hide the mirth the eldest Winchester had already clearly caught a glimpse of in their eyes.

All attempts of picking up papers and dusting fathers off were brought to a sudden halt as John growled, "What the _hell_…"

"Well," Sam glanced at Dean beseechingly, unsure how to explain that he'd just launched a tennis ball and a lamp at their father's head.

"I got to thinking while I was in the hospital," Dean started, absently glancing out the door, looking for the tennis ball, only to catch a glimpse of the Impala sitting right outside the motel door…

And the now shattered windshield.

His jaw dropped as he pushed John out of his way and ran out to his car, "Sammy!!!!!"

Sam winced as he took in the spider-web of cracks spreading out from the center focal point where the ball had hit the glass of the Impala's windshield. Oh, Dean was going to kill him. Suddenly feeling all of about three, he stepped behind John, purposely keeping their father between himself and Dean as his brother glared at him.

John, of course, wasn't much help as he held up his hands in a 'still waiting' way and snapped, "Somebody better tell me what the hell just happened! Now!"

Seeing as Dean was currently moping over the Impala Sam was left to explain and John gave him a hard stare, "Well?"

Heaving a sigh Sam ran a hand through his hair, "Well…I was…practicing…"

_**END**_


End file.
